


I want to play judas and jesus christ

by elithewho



Category: The Two Faces of January (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Drunkenness, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She’s dead because of you,” he remarked without the savagery he felt. Just a calm monotone. But he couldn’t bring himself to say her name.</p><p>-</p><p>Chester and Rydal go to Frankfurt instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to play judas and jesus christ

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Morgan as always - for encouraging me to write this filth and then editing it with infinite kindness.
> 
> Title is from "Womb" by Roadkill Ghost Choir.

Chester, as ever, was drunk. The kind of drunk that made his head spin, his blood hot. He could tell he wouldn’t black out, he wouldn’t be sick. He wasn’t so sure about Rydal, who was listing off to the side, faltering and tripping over his own feet. Chester grabbed him roughly by the shirt collar, ostensibly to steady him. The skin of the kid’s neck felt hot against his knuckles. Rydal was young, but not that young, dark stubble on his smooth cheeks, shoulders thick and broad. Chester still thought of him as a kid. A bratty kid, one who thought he could take on the world and walk away with only a few scrapes.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Rydal mumbled and Chester shook his neck a little, making him stumble.

They’d made it to Frankfurt after all and Chester was a little glad for it. His second choice had been Istanbul and he couldn’t have gotten booze there. With all the cheap German beer they could drink, Rydal had forgotten to keep his wits about him. And Chester had always found solace in a bottle.

In some alleyway, Rydal had gotten sick, shoulders shaking and shivering as Chester patted his back. The poor kid emptied his guts and stood there hunched over, groaning in inebriated agony.

“Get yourself together,” he snarled, his words only slurring a little.

Rydal shuddered, wavered slightly off balance and nearly fell. Chester righted him, giving him a moment to spit a few times and wipe his mouth with a shaking hand. He didn’t want to remind him to stop making a scene. Despite the streets being near empty, they could never be too careful. And Rydal had seemed sensible enough. Green, callow, filled with eager enthusiasm like a schoolboy. But sensible enough.

Chester wound his arm around Rydal’s shaking shoulders and forced him upright and walking. The kid leaned against him, out of necessity perhaps, or maybe he was that desperate for human contact. Maybe he just wanted some affection. It made sense, with his obvious daddy issues, his interest in other men’s wives. He was a young, naïve kid who thought he “got it.” He understood nothing.

The well of feeling in his chest surged and Chester found himself steering Rydal down another alley, even darker than the first.

“Hey…” Rydal mumbled, apparently more cognizant than Chester had originally thought.

“Hey what?” he muttered innocently before swinging him around, right into the wall.

It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but Rydal groaned anyway, too drunk to really do much but feebly try to twist around. Chester grabbed his wrist, planting it hard in the small of his back to keep him still. Rydal’s breath came raggedly and Chester could feel his knees shaking. Chester used his superior height to his advantage, pinning the kid firmly against the rough stone.

He was close enough that he could see Rydal swallow thickly. He watched his throat work, a strip of tan skin illuminated by a lone street light, his stubble dark, getting long enough to be the beginnings of a beard, the smallest red bumps from inexpert shaving near his jaw. Chester licked his lips, imagining that skin against his tongue.

“Wait… can’t we…” Rydal mumbled, his words faltering into nothing. He still thought he could negotiate, talk himself out of trouble. Chester chuckled mirthlessly, pressing himself fully onto the kid hunched under him, letting him feel his hard-on against his ass.

Rydal shivered, arm twisting with renewed vigor. But Chester’s hand on his wrist remained firm. And his struggles only made his firm ass slide over Chester’s erection, which he was sure was not the kid’s intention.

“Hey, it’s OK,” Chester muttered, voice low and raspy. Gentle, like he was calming a spooked horse. Rydal grunted, his free hand smacking hard against the stone wall.

“Shh,” Chester whispered against his forehead, just holding him still and letting him struggle until he would be too tired to fight. It wouldn’t take long -- he was exhausted, drunk. “She’s dead because of you,” he remarked without the savagery he felt. Just a calm monotone. But he couldn’t bring himself to say her name.

Rydal stilled, his breathing still harsh. 

“I didn’t,” he choked. “That was you.”

Rydal smelled like booze and sick, but also the smallest trace of some cheap cologne he must have bought in Greece, smeared on his cheeks to charm all the naïve young girls he swindled. Colette must have pressed her face against his neck, enjoyed that scent while he fucked her. Chester felt a renewed blaze of fury and then lust, imagining her body twisting with his. He ground his cock angrily into Rydal’s ass, enjoying the kid’s fitful squirm. 

“Chester…” Rydal began, his voice purposely even, almost wheedling. He was going to start pleading with him.

“Shut up,” he snarled, hand snaking around his hip to fumble at his belt.

Rydal’s sharp intake of breath was rewarding. His head snapped back, a hard impact against Chester’s chin which didn’t deter him. He pressed his face into Rydal’s hair instead. There was some clean scent under all the less savory smells, brown hair curling charmingly on his smooth forehead. No wonder all the young women fell into his bed.

There was no bed for them here. Chester didn’t need one. No sense in it, this wasn’t a lover’s tryst. He pushed his hand into Rydal’s briefs and fondled his cock, surprised to find it half hard.

Chester chuckled for real this time, the puff of air making Rydal’s curls flutter.

“You’re full of surprises, kid,” he said into his hair. “Wouldn’t have thought you were half queer. Maybe that’s why daddy didn’t love you.”

Chester was ready for Rydal’s sudden jerk, fury at the insult making him ready to fight. But he was worn down, shaking against Chester’s body and his cock was getting thicker as Chester palmed him roughly. A faint whine escaped his throat as Chester thumbed the head of his dick and Chester pushed against him, dragging the hard ridge of his cock along the cleft of his ass.

Impatiently, Chester stopped jerking him off to shove down Rydal’s trousers and briefs, just enough to feel the curve of his bare ass. It felt good in his palm and Rydal shivered. 

“That’s what you want, right?” Chester said thoughtfully before sucking two fingers into his mouth and then reaching down to drag them slippery along Rydal’s hole. He felt the kid tremble, his breath heavy and strained, a barely audible moan in each exhale. “You want daddy to love you.”

Rydal really did whine. Whether it was what Chester said or his fingers pressing against his hole, lightly breeching it, he couldn’t say. 

“Do I still remind you of dear old dad?” he said against his ear. “Do you want to be a good boy for me?”

There was a tight groan as Chester slipped his fingers in, feeling his ass clench hot and tight around the intrusion. Rydal sucked hard on his bottom lip, a sharp hiss of air through his teeth as Chester wiggled in deeper. Chester wanted to grab his chin, feel the stubble against his palm and bite that bottom lip for him. But his hands were busy. He kept pressing deeper, enjoying every breathy whine Rydal couldn’t manage to suppress.

He pushed in the crucial amount and Rydal stiffened, knees locking up, head banging against the stone wall and he cursed raggedly. 

“There’s a good boy,” he said in a low voice, a gentle growl against Rydal’s ear, lips brushing lightly on his skin. The sound he made was high-pitched and breathy, like Chester imagined his voice had sounded as a teenager, breaking for the first time.

He fingered his hole slowly, screwing in deliberate and deep and then out again lazily. Rydal panted against the wall, hips moving back against him best he could manage without any space. 

“Please,” Rydal choked out, breathy and strained. Chester paused all together, fingers buried knuckle deep.

“Please?” Chester asked softly. The hand that still held the kid’s wrist shifted minutely, his thumb brushing gently across his wrist bone, soft enough to be a caress. 

_“Please,”_ the kid whined more insistently, unable to articulate what he wanted. Or unwilling. 

Chester wiggled his fingers roughly, brushing against that spot that made the kid clench up tight like a vice, his whole body shaking. Chester wanted to grab a fistful of his hair and tug it back, exposing that well-formed mouth panting with exertion, that throat speckled with dark hairs. He stabbed his fingers deep inside him once more, listening to the kid’s pained groan and sharp intake of breath. 

“Oh fuck,” Rydal moaned, teeth clicking together as he clenched his jaw, body twisting as he tried to fuck himself on Chester’s fingers. Chester became aware that the wrist under his fingers was not fighting against his grip, not with the same ferocity as before. The kid’s whole body was straining against him and Chester took a gamble. He was used to taking risks.

This one, like none of the others, paid off. He let go of Rydal’s arm and with two fingers still buried in his ass, grabbed the kid’s dick with his free hand. Rydal took in a sharp, shuddering breath, his wrist staying exactly where it was at the small of his back, his other hand fumbling for purchase against the stone wall he was pressed against. Rydal’s cock was hot and slick in his fist and it slid easily through his hand as he continued to finger him with the same torturously slow pace, but jerked him off with a rhythm that made the kid groan and writhe wonderfully, his body hot and tight and shivering. A wrinkle formed between Rydal’s brows as he bit his lip, probably hard enough to bleed and Chester squeezed the slippery underside of his cock, enjoying his startled yelp. 

“That’s it,” Chester muttered, lips still pressed close to his ear. “That’s it, my boy.”

And Rydal came with a distressed whimper, then let out a series of pained gasps as Chester pressed hard with the fingers in his ass and swiped his thumb against the slick, sensitive head of his cock. Rydal shuddered, his body going limp after clenching so tightly and Chester let his fingers slip out. He wrapped his free arm around the kid’s chest, now totally supporting his weight. He released his softening cock and pressed his sticky hand on his lower stomach, smearing trails of hot come through the wiry hair below his belly button. 

Rydal was still breathing heavily, wheezing slightly like he’d run a mile and couldn’t catch his breath. Still supporting him with a hand around his chest, Chester managed to pull his briefs and trousers up to their proper place but didn’t bother trying to buckle them. He briefly considered pressing a kiss against the smooth skin at the base of his neck but thought better of it. Reducing this infuriating, cocky brat to a shuddering mess had been satisfying, but not nearly satisfying enough. He was still painfully hard in his trousers.

Slowly, Chester released his grip around Rydal’s chest. The kid tipped forward, regaining enough of his faculties not to drop like a sack of wet laundry but far gone enough to slide down to his knees on the damp cobblestones, holding himself steady against the wall with shaking hands.

Chester reached down, took a handful of Rydal’s thick hair and shook him lightly. The kid groaned in protest, too weak to really do anything about it. 

“You want to be a good boy or not?” he said thickly, giving Rydal’s head another shake.

“Fuck you,” he retorted, voice rough.

At that, Chester tugged his hair sharply, forcing him to turn around so he was facing him, still on his knees. Rydal looked up at him, jaw set defiantly. That thin sliver of street light fell across his cheek, illuminating his tan, youthful skin, unlined and firm, one of those big brown eyes still shining with unshed tears, now hardened with insolence. He looked young, but also not so young, not young enough for Chester not to slide his thumb down his smooth cheek, feel the rasp of stubble against his fingers as his thumb pushed between his lips, swollen and red from how hard he had bit them.

Rydal must have sobered the smallest fraction because he was suddenly smart enough to bite down viciously on Chester’s thumb. Chester jerked his hand away and slapped him hard across the face, an angry reflex that nearly sent the kid sprawling. Chester grabbed him by his shirt collar, steadying him and Rydal glared up at him, grimacing around a freshly split lip.

Chester grinned, a strange, hard emotion twisting in his gut as he methodically unbuckled his belt. Rydal’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear making his lips twitch, his tongue reflexively darting out to lick the smear of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before,” he said with amusement, taking out his cock and stroking it lightly.

“I’m not fucking queer,” Rydal spit out, his voice coarse.

Chester shrugged, deciding to not point out how he had just fingered his ass to orgasm.

“You want to be good for daddy, though,” he said evenly, almost casually. 

Chester enjoyed the deep red blush that darkened the kid’s smooth cheeks. He pressed his cock against his mouth and felt the tight lipped resistance.

“Don’t you dare think you can get away with biting me this time,” he said in a low, threatening tone. He pushed insistently against his warm mouth, sighing when the kid still didn’t budge.

Chester pulled away slightly and knocked his closed fist hard against the side of Rydal’s head. He grunted at the contact; his head was probably already throbbing. 

“None of that now,” Chester grumbled. “Now open up.”

If he thought it would have been so easy, Chester wouldn’t have bothered hitting him. Rydal relented, his mouth falling open and only made a choked sound of protest when Chester pushed his way in. His mouth was warm, wet, unpracticed. Teeth scraped against his shaft and Chester twisted his fingers hard in his handful of thick hair. Rydal’s jaw opened further and Chester stroked the kid’s damp forehead with his thumb.

“That’s good,” he mumbled. “That’s a good boy.”

That earned a muffled moan from Rydal. Chester brushed his knuckles against his stubbled cheek, an almost fond gesture despite the tight knot of emotion in his chest. Rydal was breathing tightly through his nose, heavy panicked breaths as Chester thrust roughly into his mouth. Rydal was clearly not used to this and it showed in his technique, how he didn’t know what to do with his teeth or tongue, how he stiffened in panic whenever Chester got close to the back of his throat. But his muffled little groans were beautiful to hear, his eyes screwed shut as if he hoped to block it all out. A thick lock of hair was stuck to his forehead, dampened by sweat. 

Chester was surprised at how close he was, how little time it took to get him to the edge. Rydal was holding himself up by gripping Chester’s thighs with trembling hands, and his whole body was shaking. Chester thrust a few more times, deeper than before and Rydal choked, his eyes watering, the cut on his lip stretching and leaking blood. It was satisfying enough and Chester stiffened, at the last moment pulling out to spill thick lines of come across Rydal’s bemused face, his eyes wide, catching the light and sparkling, his mouth red and abused looking. Chester watched the sticky mess drip off his chin before Rydal raised a shaking hand to scrub fitfully at it. Chester let go of his collar and Rydal crumpled, falling back against the wall.

Rydal wiped desperately at his face, trying to remove the mess while Chester tucked himself back in his pants, stumbling slightly as his head spun. He was still drunk, that was all. Rydal looked wrecked, his hair tangled and matted to his forehead, his eyes bright and brimming with tears, face red and hot with shame. His split lip left a thin trail of blood on his chin that he wiped way with the cuff of his coat, along with the shiny stripes of come and spit.

Chester straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair. Quite unnecessarily, but his hands moved automatically. He reached down to the kid at his feet and petted his hair, almost fondly.

“Good boy,” he muttered and Rydal swatted at his hand, expression mulish. 

Chester chuckled, his chest tight. He grabbed Rydal by his shirt collar again but this time to pull him to his feet. Rydal wobbled, still unsteady. Chester curled his arm around the kid’s shoulder and felt him stiffen. But despite his resistance, he didn’t pull away. They stumbled out of the alley together, the night closing in around them.


End file.
